6. Chapter 6
6
Graysen
G ods, would Carola Pellan just shut the fuck up? Her fake tan seared my nostrils and her whiny, tinny voice was pissing me off. I didn’t care to hear about her boring trip to Paris.
This had been one of my more stupider ideas. I’d wanted a rise out of Wychthorn and toss a little fuck-you Byron’s way.
Carola was attractive, but I saw through the glamour she’d weaved about herself that doused her freckles, sharpened her cheekbones, made her lips fuller, and brightened her eyes. There was no way that I was going to fuck her. Didn’t she get that? She was a Pellan. I hated Pellans. I hated being here surrounded by them. They made my skin crawl. And there was one Pellan that was missing tonight. One I wanted to crush with my bare hands, grind his bones to dust, and even then that wouldn’t satisfy me.
I ignored Carola, brushing aside her creepy hands that kept touching me. I’d remained on my side of the room, as requested so politely by Wychthorn, but I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking glances her way.
Wychthorn liked to mess with me every chance she got. Last time she’d hidden a tack on the cushion of my dining chair. And just to spite her and leave her bereft of the reaction she hungered for, I endured the spike of pain the entire time I sat at the table, pretending the fucking tack wasn’t buried in my left ass cheek.
What can it be?
What has she done?
I eyed my drink suspiciously… Where I stood… The low-running table filled with platters of food… Where did she expect me to sit? Had she anticipated it?
Raking my fingers through my hair, I tugged hard. Shit, I was paranoid around this girl. Taking a long pull of whiskey, I watched Little Miss Annoying over the rim of the glass. She drifted about the outskirts of the party near an imperious rattan chair while toying with the end of her braid and smiling a crooked grin at her sister.
Evvie crouched down beside Sage. The wraith-wolf leaned in, huffing with pleasure, his tail thumping on the floor as she rubbed behind his ears. With my keen hearing, I overheard her offer the beast: “How would you like a treat?” She rose and, with a click of her tongue, the wraith-wolf happily followed her as she strolled from the room.
Wychthorn slowly turned my way, purposely, not inadvertently drawn by whatever cursed us both. She fixed her attention on me as sharp as a blade. Amusement shone in her eyes and her lips twitched as if she were stifling a smirk.
Dread coiled inside me.
I felt like a mouse being taunted by a cat.
What the fuck did she do?
What the hells did I just walk into?
She wasn’t the cat—I was.
She was my thing to toy with, play with, and defile if I wanted.
And I wanted.
“She’s such a child,” Carola murmured, following my line of sight.
Carola was right. That dress of hers—always in those too-big dresses—matched with those Mary Jane heels, made Wychthorn look juvenile. And I despised her, I did. But Wychthorn’s dedication to hiding her figure behind baggy dresses paired with the fact she didn’t know how hot she was made her sexy as hells.
Carola pouted as if commiserating with me, her fingers dancing up the lapels of my jacket to play with the top button of my shirt. “I feel sorry for you, stuck with someone like her. She wouldn’t know how to please you in—”
A low growl rumbled from my throat, making Carola pause in her rambling.
This time my reaction wasn’t directed at Wychthorn, but at Carola. Annoyance hissed through my blood. And something else I didn’t want to give much time to think about.
But if Carola Pellan dares think she can be dismissive of Wychthorn—
“Get your hands off me.” I delivered it with lethal calm.
Carola blinked big eyes, which were in truth rather sleepy-looking and a dull shade of brown.
“Now.”
She snapped her hand back, confusion sweeping over her expression .
I took another mouthful of whiskey, glaring at her as I swallowed it back.
How fucking obtuse? Did I really have to come out and tell her to move her bony ass away?
Another sip—
It didn’t start straight away. It was a slow, slow tease of heat, building to a tempest of fire that singed my mouth.
WHAT
THE
FUCKING
HELLS?!
I sniffed the whiskey.
And internally groaned. Why hadn’t I picked that out sooner?
Too busy being mind-fucked by Little Miss Annoying, that’s why—idiot.
She’d spiked my whiskey with chili juice.
“Are you alright?” Carola’s thin eyebrows rounded in surprise. “You’re sweating.”
Heat as blistering as a bonfire licked my lips, the inside of my mouth, down my throat.
As my brow perspired, my cheeks and upper lip too, Wychthorn popped a hand on her hip and winked at me.
Rage as hot as the chili ignited.
I shoved the tumbler at Carola and stormed toward Wychthorn. The Pellans broke apart at my furious stride, stepping away like a wash of water around a river rock. “A word, Wychthorn.” I grabbed her arm hard, very nearly dragging her from the room, storming past the guards as we entered the foyer.
“Crowther,” she snarled, her little fist pounding at my hand as she wrenched about. Her high heels clattered on the marble floor as she skidded and stumbled, trying to keep up. Around the corner, away from prying eyes, I spun us around and slammed her up against the wall. She was tiny, my little bird. I gave her no chance to escape by sliding her upward, so she dangled. Pressing my body against hers, I pinned her to the wall.
Her hands went to my shoulders, eyes startled wide as her mouth parted to hurl something, no doubt, obscene and wicked.
My lips crashed against hers.
I kissed her and it was brutal and full of rage.
I licked into her mouth, curling my tongue around hers, before scraping it across her teeth and onto the roof of her mouth, covering every inch with the heat and fire of the chili residue.
Blood pounded in my ears, and they filled with a roaring sound like storm-wreaked waves crashing upon the shore. Whatever it was between us crackled and hummed and hissed, skating over my skin to raise all the fine hair over my body.
I’m touching her…
Kissing her.
In my fury, I hadn’t thought about what I was doing. I’d never touched her before. I’d ignored that insistent thrumming that cursed me, demanding we sink into one another whenever we were together, and shoved it away, unwanted. Fought against it.
But hellsgate—
Where my body pressed against hers, along the soft curves of her chest, her breasts… Gods, it felt like a lightning storm raking over my flesh. It almost felt like the wall behind her vibrated in time with our rapid heartbeats.
I couldn’t stop kissing her.
Her lips were warm and soft and perfect. And I kept on kissing, my mouth moving over hers, still cruel, demanding, possessive, greedy.
Stop—now!
I was desperate for her tongue to slide around mine—
Stop. Kissing. Her!
I pulled away. Both of us were breathing hard. Many emotions rapidly swept across her expression before settling into utter shock. I tried to ignore her lithe body, how soft she was, how her enticing sweetly spicy scent set my blood strumming. And that I was touching her …
Touching her for the very first time.
Fuck, I’d kissed her.
Well, to be honest, it was more a mauling than a kiss.
She tasted of sunshine. Like I’d stepped out of a vicious winter storm chilled to the bone, right into the height of summer, basking in her golden heat.
We breathed the same air. The world paused and everything stopped. It was only her and I. My mouth hovered and her quickened breath fanned my lips—I wanted more.
I canted forward.
But something was shimmering in her eyes.
What the?
I jerked my head back to see her better .
Her hand left my shoulder to fly to her mouth, and tears glistened on her lashes.
“Gods, it burns, doesn’t it?” I hoped her mouth was on fire as much as mine was. It hurt. Badly.
But the tears.
I scowled. Why was she crying? Sure it hurt, but did she see me crying?
Shit, I suppose I was. My eyeballs were sweaty, burning, and blurry. “Why the hells are you crying? Chili—”
“I’m not crying over that, you arrogant pig. That was my first—”
She cut herself short abruptly and her face scrunched in a way as if she hadn’t meant to share that with me. Ignoring me, she swiped away her tears. “Put me down,” she demanded. But her chin quivered and for some reason, something weird happened in my chest.
“Your first— what? ”
It slammed into me hard, sucking the air from my lungs, just as she snarled, “My first kiss, you fucking prick!”
I was struck silent. Surely someone as wild and untamed as her would be stealing kisses at every opportunity she got. I knew she was a virgin. I scented it on her. But I sure thought she’d be messing around behind my back.
I loosened my grip to let her slide down the wall to her feet.
“You stole it from me!” She shoved me away and I let her. She got two steps before whipping around with a different pain etched on her features.
Oh, shit…
“Hells,” she wailed, flapping her hands and jittering on the spot. “Holy hellsgate, it’s hot!” Fat beads of sweat burst along her hairline. She gaped and frantically fanned the air inside.
I jerked my head. She followed as I ran through the twists and turns of the hallways, straight for the kitchen, shoving through the busy servants to the fridge. Flinging it open, I snatched up a fresh carton of milk, snapping it open and handing it to her before I found one for myself. Both of us swilled the milk down, gargling the cooling liquid in our mouths and spitting it out in the sink. Servants worked around us, shooting questioning glances at us and each other.
Sagging against the refrigerator, utter relief flooded through my being. My mouth still burned, but the milk had eased the vicious edge off. Wiping my milky mouth with the back of my hand, I glanced at Wychthorn. She looked miserable, and I knew it wasn’t because of the residue of chili. It had been my kiss. “Wychthorn— ”
“Don’t,” she snapped, her mouth curving downward. She leaned against the kitchen bench with her fingers wrapped around the lip of the granite countertop on either side of her. All around us, the commercial-sized kitchen buzzed with activity. Water boiled on the stove in rattling pots, and the sharp slap of knives on wooden cutting boards competed with the bark of the head chef as the staff worked to meet his exacting demands.
I’m sorry —sat on the tip of my tongue and I shut my mouth before it could escape. What was I thinking? When have I ever apologized? And rule number one—never to a Wychthorn, especially this Wychthorn.
Instead, I winked. “Next time I kiss you, little bird, I’ll make it right.”
Her expression was thunderous. “You’ll never do that again. Ever!”
I merely smirked at the challenge.
Because suddenly that was the only thing I wanted to do. Kiss the hells out of her to piss her right off. My sudden desire was all about riling her up, and nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the kiss was mind-blowing.
She erupted with a hiss of frustration and snatched up her half-full milk carton, hurling it at me. The carton bounced off my chest, splattering milky droplets all over my suit.
She stomped off, and I slapped away the milk soaking into my jacket.
Gods-fucking-dammit!
My longer stride easily reached her. I grasped her elbow and spun her around just as she stepped out of the kitchen.
Shit, I was touching her again. But I seemingly couldn’t unfurl my fingers from her soft, silky skin. I wanted to keep on touching her. Hissing out a breath, I began, “I figured you’d—”
“What? Kissed before?” she snapped, her mouth a wretched line. “Yeah, there’s been so many kisses, Graysen. ” How she managed to spit my name out every time like it was filth was a godsdamned talent. “Gardeners, servants, boys from other Houses. They’re all over me. Can’t keep them away.”
I guess my disbelief showed.
“Look at me,” she said, flinging her free arm outward.
And I did.
She tasted of sunshine, but she looked like moonlight.
Wychthorn had grown a little taller since we’d signed the Alverac, but she was still short and slight. Her siblings, like her parents, had tawny hair and various shades of blue eyes, while she had pale hair—the kind of Nordic blonde that others paid thousands to dye and still looked fake—hers was all natural. Light gray eyes and honeyed skin. A faint smattering of freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks and that crooked grin that could charm even someone with a cold black heart.
She stood out amongst her family like she’d been adopted. Or Marissa Wychthorn had fucked another man and gotten pregnant. Not outside the bounds of the imagination. But I suspected not.
“I know I’m not as pretty as my sisters,” she grated out, shooting me a quick defiant glare before it flitted away.
But she was so wrong about that.
The other Houses thought of her as odd and socially awkward, preferring books over people; and the cruel rumor running rife amongst my peers, slow , hence a source of embarrassment for Great House Wychthorn and the reason Byron kept her apart and caged on the estate. However, I knew otherwise, only because I’d had to spend more time with her than I suspected anyone ever had. Wychthorn wasn’t stupid. Far from it.
She was an observant little thing.
Sharp minded. Sharp-tongued. Some of the shit she tossed at me… Anyone else muttering it would find themselves missing a limb.
I might like it.
A little too much.
It confused me. I despised her, and I had every reason to. But part of me wanted to sink into her, like, right this moment.
It wasn’t the first time I wondered just what it might be like to bury myself between her legs. She was fire and brimstone. I had a feeling if—
When, not if—
When we finally did fuck, it would be an all-out war.
My cock twitched at the thought.
A second twitch when I hoped it would be sooner than next month when she turned twenty and, finally, I owned her.
Her gaze had fallen to those shoes she hated so much, and her free hand balled at her side. “I hardly get out. No one here dares look at me for fear of my father, and it’s worse now that I’m promised to you. No one would dare cross the Lord of Darkness. So no,” she heaved a weary sigh, raising eyes filled with misery. “I’ve never been kissed.”
Fuuuck!
I half twisted away, digging my fingers across my scalp and tugging hard on the roots of my hair. It made things ten times, no, a hundred times—fuck it—a thousand times worse to know that.
There were so many firsts to show her.
Wychthorn was much like fresh, untouched parchment. Pure. Untainted. One I was now desperate to scrawl all over with sinful ink.
Releasing my hair, I hissed in a breath and rubbed my mouth with my knuckles, trying to scrub the exquisite taste of her away. “If it makes you feel better, that wasn’t a kiss. It was a fucking mauling.”
She tossed up her free arm and scowled. “Yeah, that makes me feel so much better .”
Clearly, it didn’t.
This time, when she tugged herself free, I let her storm away.